ten thousand such nuns in Amritzar alone. Return, old man,
or the te-rain may depart without thee,' cried the banker.

'Not only was it sufficient for the ticket, but for a little food
also,' said Kim, leaping to his place. 'Now eat, Holy One. Look. Day
comes!'

Golden, rose, saffron, and pink, the morning mists smoked away across
the flat green levels. All the rich Punjab lay out in the splendour of
the keen sun. The lama flinched a little as the telegraph-posts swung
by.

'Great is the speed of the te-rain,' said the banker, with a
patronizing grin. 'We have gone farther since Lahore than thou couldst
walk in two days: at even, we shall enter Umballa.'

'And that is still far from Benares,' said the lama wearily, mumbling
over the cakes that Kim offered. They all unloosed their bundles and
made their morning meal. Then the banker, the cultivator, and the
soldier prepared their pipes and wrapped the compartment in choking,
acrid smoke, spitting and coughing and enjoying themselves. The Sikh
and the cultivator's wife chewed pan; the lama took snuff and told his
beads, while Kim, cross-legged, smiled over the comfort of a full
stomach.

'What rivers have ye by Benares?' said the lama of a sudden to the
carriage at large.

'We have Gunga,' returned the banker, when the little titter had
subsided.

'What others?'

'What other than Gunga?'

'Nay, but in my mind was the thought of a certain River of healing.'

'That is Gunga. Who bathes in her is made clean and goes to the Gods.
Thrice have I made pilgrimage to Gunga.' He looked round proudly.

'There was need,' said the young sepoy drily, and the travellers' laugh
turned against the banker.

'Clean--to return again to the Gods,' the lama muttered. 'And to go
forth on the round of lives anew--still tied to the Wheel.' He shook
his head testily. 'But maybe there is a mistake. Who, then, made
Gunga in the beginning?'

'The Gods. Of what known faith art thou?' the banker said, appalled.

'I follow the Law--the Most Excellent Law. So it was the Gods that
made Gunga. What like of Gods were they?'

The carriage looked at him in amazement. It was inconceivable that
anyone should be ignorant of Gunga.

'What--what is thy God?' said the money-lender at last.

'Hear!' said the lama, shifting the rosary to his hand. 'Hear: for I
speak of Him now! O people of Hind, listen!'

He began in Urdu the tale of the Lord Buddha, but, borne by his